there is a huge flock of migratory birds in the trees across the field, across the road. i hear them. i want to run out and photograph them, but i haven’t picked up the camera in over a week.
there are a million words bubbling inside of me that need to be written in poem or novel form that haven’t seen the light of day.
there are bright ideas forming, floating, projecting themselves up from within me that i haven’t had the time to care for and nurture.
there has been routine, tasks, chores, homework, trombone lessons, housework, laundry.
there has been much more coffee, much less sleep, much more time on the phone late at night, much more time knee deep in the trenches, less time here at the computer.
there has been an ongoing clearing, of home, body, mind and soul.
so much of this has left me bewildered.
when you say you want to dream, it is very exciting. but there should be a prologue to the dream called: putting your affairs in order.
the birds are flying over me now as i sit here and type. i have paused to look out the window at them. they are on task, right where they should be right now. i know in my heart i am too, but still sometimes i wish to fly, fly, far away. find a place to rest out the winter.
sometimes finding that place requires a lot of hard flying along the way.
i don’t think i like the prologue so much. and i am sure the story itself will be long and great. but i think the ending will be the best, the day that i will be resting among so many of those dreams and i can call the epilogue: she lived happily ever after.